


The Balladeer: Camille's Birthday

by TheWatcherObserves



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Children, Embarrassment, Family, Family Planning, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWatcherObserves/pseuds/TheWatcherObserves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camille's birthday "requests" have Richard sweating and frightened in a way only Camille can accomplish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Working in the office, Richard’s head came up out of habit, reminding him once again of the changes; Camille’s face did not meet his gaze.

 

If he thought about it, Richard had to chide himself for his selfish thoughts regarding her absence. That the settlement from the Sûreté allowed her years of maternity leave should be something he was thankful for. Jasiri - the daughter Camille rescued from the  human traffickers and the incompetent social services department of the Sûreté - and the twins kept her busy and happy most days.  

Reflecting on the last four years, he shook his mental head at the challenges that assailed them. 

Richard, an avid reader, considered how much their lives since his first “Welcome Home” party resembled the best/worst of Victorian melodrama, falling and stumbling from one life-changing event to another. 

Mentally he ticked off the major events:

 

  * He and Camille stopped dancing around their feelings the night of his “Welcome Home from London” party. With typical Poole cack-handedness, his overly-energetic attentions to her satisfaction completely dislodged her barrier contraceptive device _twice_ so they spent several stressful weeks waiting for the results from multiple pregnancy tests.
  * Richard, detailed to SOCA during his return to London while accompanying murder suspect Vicky Woodward, was himself murdered as part of SOCA’s plan to run the Lintman Investment fraud and the organized crime component to ground. He’d spent a year undercover working out the threads. Camille spent a painful year mourning him. 
  * His resurrection wasn’t greeted with anything approaching happiness or a return to their prior relationship. In fact, Camille stopped speaking to him in all but a professional capacity. It took a washed out road, almost dying together as the Rover slid and spun down the mountain, a severe injury to Richard's shoulder and a huge tropical rain storm that trapped them in a mountain cave to force communications and reconciliation. Three days bivouacked in the wilderness and stripped down to only each other for support finally broke the relationship logjam. 
  * Their passionate reconciliation led to another barrier method contraceptive failure and more pregnancy tests. Camille went back on the pill.
  * Despite his pleading for her not to do so, Camille led a deep cover task force for the Sûreté to infiltrate a human trafficking ring. That resulted in her becoming a hostage trapped in an international shipping container headed for Cambodia with the child they now called their eldest daughter, Cozette Jasiri Poole. Mother and daughter spent months recovering in hospital in London. Camille spent more months testifying in France and England. They’d been separated on and off for almost a year. 
  * Glad to be a family and back on Saint-Marie with Jasiri, they celebrated a bit too enthusiastically and Camille conceived rather quickly. Richard felt happy and fairly proud that he’d actually fathered children with such a beautiful, talented woman. Weeks after the first announcement - thanks to “CatherineNet” - every male on the island celebrated publicly and lecherously when news escaped that “Studs” Poole had fathered twins. The busted condoms covering the Rover the morning after the information leak nearly drove him to request a transfer to Guadeloupe.
  * The twins were born. They took after Camille - which Richard would describe as prone to a mercurial temperament and unwarranted outbursts.



 

Having presented him with twins, Camille took every advantage. Richard couldn’t say “No!” to her.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard sighed as his wistful recollection morphed into a memory of his latest surrender to the woman who held his heart and his testicles in her hands. Desperate not to make a complete hash of her birthday, he’d made the strategic error of asking what she wanted as a present. He then made the tactical error of telling her he’d do his best to give her whatever she asked for.

It’s not as if Richard didn’t know Camille’s attitude about birthdays, he did. Because every year she tried to engage him in having a public display on his birthday, the birthdate he shared with Jasiri. 

Richard thanked the Church of England’s God every day for his children, and not only because it gave Camille three other Pooles to plan and execute parties for. Jasiri’s party at the beach and La Kaz made the local TV news; the Commissioner talked Camille into letting them use their daughter’s beach picture in the travel brochure - for a fee.

Richard thought Camille loved him and would therefore take pity on him.

 

“Richard, you really don’t have to. It’s... You did ask me what I really wanted...”

“Camille, you know I’d do anything for you -”

“Then it’s done! Thank -”

“BUT! Isn’t there something more... private that you’d enjoy? Family and a few friends?” 

“It will only be family and Dwayne, Fidel - Juliet, Rosie and Little Dwayne... Oh! And the Commissioner and his wife, A few of the Cabinet ministers - we have to invite them; it’s good for your career.”

“It’s a birthday party not a business meeting! I’m bloody well not paying for them to -”

 

Camille, lost in writing the invitation list in her head, missed Richard’s rant. 

 

“There’s Isaiah and his wife and children - they have the cutest baby. I think we shoud try again when the boys go to nursery school in September.”

“Not with me, you won’t...” Richard grumbled.

 

A wicked French smile on her lips, Camille responded to his sarcastic remark.

 

“Would you prefer I violate my marriage vows and 'try' with someone else, chér?”

 

Knowing she was teasing didn’t keep the hackles on his possessiveness from raising up in response.

 

“And WHY with the chaos our children bring down on our home every day, would you entertain the idea of increasing the noise, the confusion and the expense?”

“Jasiri wants a sister. We have two boys; why not another daughter to balance the set?”

“Without a semen analysis, we have no idea of the male-to-female ratio in my viable gametes. Not to mention there's no 'assured delivery' method of just female gametes - even with sperm separation and artificial insemination. Outside of in-vitro fertilization - which costs a bloody fortune and which we certainly don't need - there’s no way to guarantee we’d have a daugh - _Camille, what has this got to do with your party and my involvement with it_!?”

“I’ve met some very nice people since having the children and I want them and their children to come to my party. Maman thought it would be a good idea - the children will entertain themselves so you and I can enjoy the party.”

 

 _Like THAT’S going to happen_ , Richard pouted. 

 

“Chér, if you really don’t want to do this, I won’t ask you to.”

 

 **YES**! the winner in his head shouted...

...until he caught sight of the glistening wetness in her eyes.

 How, he wondered, had such a social creature as Camille Bordey-Poole and a cellar-dweller curmudgeon like Richard Poole ever found a middle ground? The “ ** _You’ll suffer terminal embarrassment!!!!_** ” klaxon in his head screamed at him to take her offer and run with it.

 

“I...

“I’ll... 

“If it will make you happy, I’ll do it. For you.”

 

Her body hit his so fast and hard she toppled them both over, her on top, kissing him everywhere.

 

 **EVERY** where...

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Ladies and gentleman! Thank you for joining us to wish Camille a bon anniversaire. Please give a warm round of applause to our next performer Richard Poole, Saint-Marie’s Chief of Police, Camille’s significant other -”

“I’m her husband! I’ve got the papers and the children to prove it!” Richard protested loudly to knowing laughter amongst the guests. Catherine had yet to forgive them for eloping on Guadeloupe.

“...husband, then. And the father of my three beautiful grand-children -”

“Keep an eye on Jasiri, Chief! She’ll break more hearts on this island than Camille did!”

 

More laughter broke out at the comment and at Richard’s rising scarlet color change. Jasiri’s dating years worried Richard almost daily and she was only 6 and 1/2 years old. Their adopted daughter could be a laboratory clone of Camille at the same age, with longer hair.

It might make more sense, he considered, to use the remainder of his SOCA bonus, Camille’s Sûreté settlement and their savings to buy an island near Saint-Marie and have Camille home-school their daughter. His feral twin boys still required domestication and civilization; he’d bring them to and from school when he went to work each day on Saint-Marie.

 

“Richard Poole!” Catherine finished before any further interruptions occurred.

 

Walking past Camille, who sat in the Guest of Honor’s chair in the front, Richard handed her an envelope while whispering in her ear. With a puzzled grin, Camille opened the envelope as Richard sang:

 

“ _No more talk of darkness_  

“ _Forget these wide-eyed fears_ ” 

 

Camille’s eyes read Richard’s words in the letter:

 

“ ** _Camille,_**

**_Without your birth on this day my life would be a meaningless repetition of work and sleep without joy. I almost spent a lifetime afraid of life, of living._ **

**_Then I met you.  You made me believe that all I feared was behind me._** ”

 

“ _I'm here - nothing can harm you_  

“ _My words will warm and calm you_ ”

 

“ ** _I had no understanding of what you went through after my ‘murder’ until Thierry abducted you. I had to find you - to bring you back to me - because my life could not continue without you. I should have told you this over and over again but words abandon me when I need them most or the wrong words come through. I will not willing be parted from you again. Camille, I give you my life; I will protect you and our family until I die._** ”

 

“ _Let me be your freedom_  

“ _Let daylight dry your tears_

“ _I'm here - with you beside me_  

“ _To guard you while you guide me_ ” 

 

 **_“You have always been kind to me. You were the first person to love me with kindness. Every time Doug Anderson attacked me in my own station you came to protect and be kind to me. I’m a complete man because of your kindness and_ ** **_your love. My heart is safe with you...”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song comes from the talented pen of Andrew Lloyd Webber. "All I Ask of You" remains one of the finest examples of romantic songwriting from the 20th - or maybe _any_ \- century.
> 
> I've taken a small liberty with the lyrics to reflect Camille's 21st century sensibilities.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a moment for realization to arrive - Richard’s letter explained how each phrase he sang communicated his love for her. She didn’t finish the letter - looking up in surprise, tearful soft-brown irises found the penetrating gaze he sent for her and her alone. For Richard, no one else existed in the room except Camille. 

He sang _for her_.

 

“ _Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_  

“ _Say the word and I will follow you_

“ _Share each day with me, each night, each morning_

 _“Say you love me -_ ”

 

\- and he stopped, watching and waiting for her, the last sung line a request.

Composing herself, Camille responded in a husky whisper heard across the hushed room.

 

“You know I do...”

“ _Love me, that's all I ask of you..._ ” he finished in his sweet tenor to a soft chord.

 

Camille sat stunned by the soul of this man she tussled with every day while carving out a life for themselves and their children. That he would do this, confess before witnesses how much he loved her, put paid to whatever residual hurt she felt over his choices on the SOCA assignment and his role in it.

 

“I.. I prepared another song for you if you’d like to hear it.”

 

Unable to speak, Camille merely nodded her consent, shaking tears free.

With her permission, Richard plucked arpeggios on the guitar.

 

“ _Quand on n'a que l'amour_

_“A s'offrir en partage_

_“Au jour do grand voyage_

_“Qu'est notre grand amour_

_“Quand on n'a que l'amour_

_“Pour unique raison_

_“Pour unique chanson_

_“Et unique secours_

_“When we only have love_

_“To offer in prayer_

_“For the hurts in our lives_

_“As a simple troubadour..._ ”

["If We Only Have Love" - Jacques Brel] 

 

Richard’s final verse got lost as Camille approached the small, improvised stage, letter in hand, and folded into him. Richard barely had time to remove his beloved Martin 1865 guitar from harm and open his arms.

Applause built from friends and well-wishers as they stood together on the stage, Camille crying emotionally in Richard's arms. When her crying slowed a bit, Richard whispered in her ear.

 

“See what happens when you ask me to humiliate myself in public as a birthday present?”

 

Camille kissed him, first warmly then passionately, as encoraging applause changed to hoots and cat calls. Richard was thankful that she blocked any view of his body from the seats around the tables; his response lay tangibly awake between them.

 

“You _will_ be singing for me at home more often. I’m going to ask Maman and Juliet to keep the babies tonight and tomorrow night. Can we try again? Please?”

 

Camille wanted another child. Richard struggled to keep up with the three they had now.

But it was her birthday. He could never say “No” to her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The outcome of Camille's request and Richard's hesitant acquiescence has been written, but I thought the story ended nicely here. If prodded sufficiently (HeatherTN...) I will add what was originally meant to be the final chapter. I think the story expresses their devotion to each other with or without knowing the outcome.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here starts the alternate ending to the story. 
> 
> If you liked the mystery of the outcome STOP HERE. You're done reading at the end of Chapter 4.
> 
> If you're still curious...

_After the party…_

Near midnight the adult Pooles bid a French “adieu” — and not an English “goodnight” thanks to Catherine’s deadly cocktail mixing skills — to the partygoers. Thankfully, Richard recalled, the children dropped off — from sheer exhaustion — hours earlier in the apartment above the restaurant,  saving Richard from any tearful goodbyes (Richard being the one most inclined to tear up; he hadn’t got the knack yet for leaving his children anywhere but at home). Waiting impatiently, Richard kept an eye on Camille while she kissed a bar-full of party guests and freeloaders (the party _was_ on Saint Marie, after all), 

Camille chose to walk home rather than take a taxi, which struck Richard as a bit odd; no mention had been made of this fourth baby since her tearful request after his song. Taking him on a long walk, sure to tire him out after all that party good behavior, might indicate she’d realized how much more work and expense another baby would create. Camille had to know that exercising her 47-year-old husband before “exercising” her 47-year-old husband wouldn’t lead to procreative success.

Still under the influence of Catherine’s wonderful Cherub’s Cup cooler (and the sinful amount of gin hidden in its formula), Richard barely noted the feel of sand under his shoes before his wife spun into his body and kissed the logic and reason right out of his head. Minus the gin and the arousal, he’d never have let her attack him this way in public view. As it was, he committed himself fully to responding to her overture. The results pleased her, he could tell, because she smiled into the kiss.

Stumbling into their living area, Richard forcibly separated himself from his wife so that he could lay out the ground rules for at least one family planning decision. 

They’d been married only weeks when Camille’s deep cover assignment brought Jasiri into her life and therefore into his. He’d gone to Europe to rescue his wife and returned near their fifth-month wedding anniversary with a four-year-old daughter. Less than a month after her trial testimony ended — and after an eight month separation — Richard’s ardor distracted him from confirming her contraceptive method; a weekend of non-stop “Welcome Home, Camille” love-making led to the twins.

 

“Camille, please! I want to set the ground rules here before I lose my ability to think!”

“Ground rules for making love, chér?” she shot back at him with a raised eyebrow.

“We’re not making love, we’re making a baby and I, for one, intend to do at least a modicum of planning for this one.”

“Come on, Richard. We don’t need a ‘list’ for this.”

“Yes we do. There are a number of things we need to discuss before creating our fourth child together. First, there will be no early morning delight. Another mouth to feed means I cannot afford to lose my job due to tardiness or lassitude and I’m useless after we make love.”

 

Camille gave him the oddest look before asking an odder question.

 

“Do you mind if I get comfortable? This sounds like a long list.”

“Be my guest.” Richard encouraged, pleased that she finally understood the seriousness of what they were about to embark on.

 

Scarcely a minute later, Richard lost his composure at Camille’s definition of “getting comfortable”.

 

“CAMILLE! What…!? Wait…! Not _**HERE**_!”

“I’m getting comfortable. You said I could.”

 

His gorgeous French wife had undressed in their living area down to her lingerie, a sheer set of bikini briefs topped with a see-through silk-like camisole. Pregnancy with the twins broadened the nipples tenting the sheer fabric and plumped her breasts, creating a décolletage. Alarms and sirens whooped and whistled in Richard’s head at the sight of her; he’d never finish the discussion with her parading around in that.

 

“I thought you meant to **sit** on the couch - not STRIP!”

“I never get to relax this way when the babies are here. I thought you’d enjoy my birthday present to you. I ordered this online with the gift card you gave me.”

 

Richard’s thumb and index finger massaged the spot between his eyebrows. Behind his closed eyelids, afterimages of Camille in those knickers had him back at the ready — and she hadn’t touched him in ten minutes.

 

“Go on,” she prodded after reclining on the couch, one leg stretched out to eternity and the other bent at the knee with her foot flat on the couch cushion, “what else?”

 

Swallowing to clear his inexplicably dry mouth, he continued.

 

“You can only have me once a day and only after the children are asleep. Jasiri knows too much about marital relations and child birth as it is, thanks to you and her French grandmother.”

“Would you rather she know nothing until she finds herself pregnant by some boy and in labor?”

“I’d rather put a chastity belt on her until her 90th birthday. Back to the topic.”

 

Richard momentarily lost his train of thought when Camille moved the foot of her reclining leg from the couch cushion to the floor, offering a better view of Richard’s most favored and revered recreation area — hardly covered by those sexy knickers. 

 

“No… uh, no.. no matter what gender this child is, we’re done. I haven’t figured out how to pay for three children’s university educations and now we’ll have to tighten our belts to budget for four.”

“That’s not fair, Richard,” Camille objected as she sat up enough to reveal more of what lay behind the crotch of those knickers, “I make almost as much consulting as I did working for _you.”_

“And we spend that and more on clothes, food, nappies and the like. Soon we’ll have tuition - Jasiri’s too smart for the local island school. We need to transfer her to an independent school.”

“What about the boys?”

“Still require domestication and physical restraints. I believe there’s a reform school on Guadeloupe that might take them.”

“Richard! They’re just high spirited.”

“They’re holy terrors! Which is why whatever we have, this time is our last. I’ll be having that operation after to ensure we stop at four -“

“Or five. We might make twins again.” she smiled mischievously.

“You bloody well better not do that to me. And we’re not buying anything new - no new pram, no new cot, nothing.”

“What about clothes? We don’t have baby clothes for a little girl. Jasiri was four when she came to us.”

“Fine. But I want a budget and I expect you to keep to it. Speaking of the budget, you’ll need to fit in more consulting or raise your hourly fee for us to stay afloat."

“Can’t we use a little of my settlement savings?”

“No, not if we want our children to attend a quality university off of this island. I don’t know how Fidel does it, two kids under seven and Juliet’s pregnant again — on a sergeant’s salary!”

“Anything else?” she asked, reclining again into a position that had Richard’s feet moving in her direction without conscious effort.

“I love our children but I often miss my best friend. It’s all dinner and lessons and bath time and bedtime then we’re too tired for any adult time. Not making love, just... being together...

 

“I miss you, Camille.”

 

Camille rose again to tug his belt off and unfasten his fly. Fisting a handful of his shirt she laid back and pulled him on top of her, settling him between her legs.

Of all the items on the list, this request riveted her attention. Camille could fill her days with the exploits and adventures of their children and be content. Richard, on the other hand, had lived a lonely existence until they met. Then he died and she got abducted. In between, they’d enjoyed just over a year of quality relationship time — until he’d had to share Camille, first with Jasiri and then with the boys. He worked hard to be the kind of husband and father his family needed, very different than his own; if making more time for Richard improved their family dynamic, Camille vowed to make it happen.

 

“I agree, chér. You deserve more attention.”

 

She kissed him; together they guaranteed they’d have to replace the couch before the children returned on Sunday evening.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Six months after that…_

 

“Camille, are you sure you’ll be okay while I’m in Guadeloupe tomorrow? I don’t want you to be here alone if the baby comes early. You seem quite far along for six months.”

 

Camille’s girth expanded at an alarming rate, starting the weekend of her birthday. Disproving the science behind home pregnancy tests, Camille wee'd on the stick and shrieked with joy at the results — they were having another baby. 

Richard spent the next four months researching how an over-the-counter pregnancy test could turn up positive after only 48 hours — albeit a really **_good_** 48 hours — of elapsed time working on the new construction. No scholarly journal or medical expert escaped his attention; without skype, their phone bill would have violated Richard’s “Baby #4” austerity protocol. Camille still fielded calls at least twice a week from renowned reproductive endocrinologists running ideas past “Dr. Poole” — her latest nickname for him.

With no plausible explanation for her size coming from the experts, Richard stayed close to home early on and made it a point to accompany her to every pre-natal visit up to Week 20 — just to confirm they weren’t expecting triplets or quintuplets. There had to be something, _anything,_ to explain her rapid expansion.

At each sonogram, Richard peered intently to get confirmation of the quantity of children growing inside Camille. He’d been reduced to subterfuge when Camille roundly forbade each tech from telling Richard anything other than “They’re fine, sir”, all while Camille laid on the examination table crying loudly at his insensitivity. Using his own sources, Richard felt sure that Camille carried a single child of yet-to-be-determined gender. For this reason, he trusted Camille to handle the 24- and 28-week exams on her own because little that could unnerve her or him would be determined. 

 

“What were the results for the Hep-B laboratory test?”

 

Camille slid past him, herding the boys into the children’s bathroom. Both were covered in sticky lime juice. While Richard interrogated Camille and Camille evaded his questions, the twins used a screwdriver (stolen from Uncle Dwayne’s tool box when he repaired the safety gate on the house decking) to pry the child latch on the fridge open. The "Poole Posse" spilled an entire bottle of their favorite sweetened lime juice on themselves and the floor. Drained after spending all morning at the clinic, Camille ignored the conundrum of how her almost-three-year-olds got the bottle’s kid cap off.

 

“Hmm?” she called out from the bathroom. 

 

Hearing water running into the bath, Richard followed her and perched in the bathroom doorway where Camille would hear him. The argument started immediately as he watched her attempts to lower herself to the floor.

 

“Camille! STOP! You’ll hurt yourself and the baby! I’ll bathe the little safecrackers.”

“But you just got home and you have to pack to leave tomorrow —”

“I don’t care! Let me do this! Here we have further evidence why we —”

 

He’d almost made the mistake of saying “shouldn’t have made another baby.” but his self-preservation instinct told him to shut up and decontaminate his sons.

 

“Why we **_what_**?” she asked, eyebrow raised with her own guess at his unspoken words.

“Why we have to work together. These little blighters are a handful; you need my help.”

 

Slipping his hands into her armpits, Richard tugged her upward. In the tight confines of the bathroom, her sexy derrière slid by his John Thomas with a welcome “Hello, John!” touch. Camille noted his “reply” against her backside as he struggled to stay focused. Once he'd got her sorted out, Richard knelt beside the tub, ducking water and toys flying between the boys.

 

“Merci. I’ll get towels.”

“No. Sit. They spend two-thirds of every day streaking through the house unclothed —”

“You mean naked.” she teased. 

 

He ignored her as always.

The boys spent a good portion of their home time stripping their clothes off, climbing on the patio furniture (after pushing it to the railing)  dropping over the recently repaired safety gate onto the sand and sprinting to the water’s edge to play. Their parents had two very different styles for dealing with this behavior: Richard would run to the water’s edge with their tethers. After a number of feints and dodges, Richard would wrestle one into the harness and haul his prisoner around to catch the other. Camille, on the other hand, would assign Jasiri watch duty while Camille quickly collected sun screen and water; Jasiri swam like a fish and had completed her first level junior water saver Girl Guide badge in record time. More importantly, Jasiri could scare the boys into behaving for short moments at a time. Camille would return and relax on the beachfront porch under the trees while Jasiri changed into her swimsuit and joined her brothers. Richard declared them all bohemians.

 

“— herding them to the towels won’t bother them. Now tell me about your Hep-B test results.”

 

Richard noted Camille biting her lower lip. Clearly, something was amiss.

 

“Camille?”

“Richard…”

“What is it? Is something wrong with you or the baby!?”

 

Mundane worries over family budgets and university educations evaporated in his mind; he loved Camille and the baby and needed them hale and whole.

 

“No-no-no! The Hep-B was fine. I’ve travelled internationally so I’ve taken the vaccination. The group B strep came back negative. So we’re quite healthy, chér.”

 

Camille smiled from her seat on the closed commode; she’d waited for the results so Richard wouldn’t bug Casper and the nursing staff all night.

 

“Why would they give you a strep exam at 28 weeks? Did they suspect something!? It’s the boys, isn’t it? They’ve incubated some unknown super-strain of strep and Casper thought you’d contracted it! What else did they examine you for?”

 

Kneeling only made his anxiety more apparent, trapped between Camille’s legs and the sidewall of the bath in the tiny bathroom.

 

“Richard, we’re fine! Please don’t worry. They liked the results of the cervical exam; the baby is turning.”

 

Richard Poole could have successfully sat the Royal College of Medicine Forensic Obstetrics certification exam if he chose to — and if the exam existed. No cervical exam or strep-B blood work would be performed at 28 weeks. Unless the mother became high-risk for some reason.

Red shading sheeted just under his skin as hyperventilation initiated hypoxia. Light-headedness from the panting explained why Richard remained frozen while twin miscreants dumped bath water over him. Twice.

 

“It’s… I’m 35 weeks, not 28.” she confessed.

“How can that be!? We didn’t even start **_trying_** until your birthday six months ago.”

 

Had Camille been able to meet his eyes, she’d have seen Richard’s utter confusion at this conception dating game.

 

“I’d had a couple very light cycles before my birthday. Why would I think I was…?”

 

Shock paralyzed Richard’s vocal chords. Camille listened hard for the puff of air that brought the word “When?” across to her.

 

“The human trafficking conference we both attended on Guadeloupe, I think?”

 

Richard remembered it well as it was one of the few work-related getaways they’d participated in together these days. When the keynote speaker and the chairwoman fell suddenly ill, Mr. and Mrs. Poole found themselves in a lovely all-expenses-paid 2-bedroom suite, children safely ensconced with loved ones back on Saint-Marie, and nothing to do for four whole days — and nights — but enjoy each other’s company.


	7. Chapter 7

_D-Day at the Beach…_

 

Seven months after Camille’s birthday — at their home and NOT the hospital, as planned — Cari Hélène Catherine Bordey-Poole started life with her family by scaring the hell out of her father.  

 

“Camille! I’m home! Children, where is your mother?”

 

The boys took off, preferring a romp on the fenced porch (after a day spent behaving in nursery school) to being obedient and answering their father. Clothing left a trail to their whereabouts; Uncle Dwayne would be repairing the safety gate again.

 

“Maman says the baby is coming.” Jasiri cheerfully filled in, “She’s lying down in your room. I brought her ice chips and I turned on the music she likes. Maman called Mama Le Bon and I called Mémère.”

 

Richard’s seven-year-old related these preparations as if having a baby occurred every day in their home.

 

“Did you call the ambulance yet — or did your mother already do that?”

“No. Maman said she doesn’t want to have the baby in the hospital. She put a plastic sheet on the bed and asked me to help her make it up again, so I did."

 

Richard's skin turned a color no one else in his family could achieve without makeup. 

 

“Are you all right, pa-pa?”

“Yes, yes. Um… Can you watch your brothers for me? Make sure they don’t escape and start whacking the wild turtles with those wooden croquet mallets again.”

“Yes, pa-pa. You will call me when Maman has the baby? I want to see my sister being born!”

“Jasiri, we’ve discussed the fact that there’s no assured method —”

 

At that moment, Camille let out a pain-driven groan that arrested Richard’s attention.

 

“Um.. We’ll discuss this again later. Maybe more Punnett squares will explain this better.”

 

With that last educational promise, Richard ran into his bedroom to find his wife bracing herself against the cabinet and panting through a contraction.

 

“Come on. Into the car. We can just make it.”

“No —,” Camille strained to speak, “I’m having the baby here.”

“Camille, we’ve discussed this. It isn’t safe to have the baby here, especially with your post-abduction medical history. Let me help you into the car.”

 

Gently supporting her, they slowly moved away from the cabinet together — Richard heading towards the door and Camille heading towards the bed.

 

“No — this baby’s coming.” she moaned, clutching her belly.

“You **cannot** have this baby here! Please, Camille, I’ll get you to hospital in 10 minutes, 15 minutes tops. Just let me help you into —”

 

The yell she let out drowned out the rest of his sentence.

 

“Richard! Stop talking and wash up! I need to push NOW!”

 

Bereft of choices, Richard followed her instructions. Scrubbing furiously to allay panic at having to deliver his own child unassisted, Richard completely missed the tiny midwife when she joined him to wash up and returned to Camille. Only when Mama Le Bon asked if he intended to participate in the birth did Richard realize he'd lost time.

Truthfully, while he wanted to support Camille, he preferred to “participate” in a nice, sterile hospital with lots of doctors and equipment and blinking status lights and clean white gowns and harsh overhead glare. Once again, Camille had arranged the situation to suit herself.

Mama Le Bon, bless her skills, saved Richard from the horror of “catching” his fourth child. He’d barely situated himself behind Camille to provide a backstop when, with three quick pushes, everything concluded with a tiny cry.

 

“It’s another beautiful girl!” the midwife announced to three jubilant ladies - Camille, Catherine and Jasiri. In a matter of moments the newest Poole, cleaned and diapered, nursed contentedly in her mother's arms.

 

Casper, the family doctor, arrived 10 minutes too late to an hysterical tirade about Camille’s due date from a terrified Richard. Casper corrected Richard — and completely undid Richard’s confidence in his wife’s ability, while pregnant, to process information correctly. 

At her last appointment (which Richard missed due to a meeting on Guadeloupe) Casper had recommended Camille stay with Juliet and Fidel as the baby had dropped and could arrive at any time. Somehow, his wife forgot to mention that small detail — or possibly she withheld the information to ensure she gave birth at home. From Camille’s first serious contraction to Cari’s first cry took 57 minutes.


	8. Chapter 8

_A Few Days Shy of Six Weeks after D-Day…_

 

Richard eventually forgave Camille as they got used to the newest Poole. 

Cari was a mild-tempered, easy baby who adapted well to the maelstrom that was life in the Poole household. Where the boys could shake coconuts off the trees when they cried for milk and nappy changes, Cari seemed to whimper softly and pout, just about the cutest thing Richard had ever witnessed.  

Unlike the boys, Cari patiently waited for her milk, happy with the entertainment provided by the sister who doted on her. Jasiri’s attentiveness meant Richard hadn’t changed a diaper in days - his response time was too slow. Where the boys required constant stimulation, the girls were happy to find a quiet place (Richard would have done so himself on many days if he didn’t think it would end in divorce or being murdered a second time) and enjoy dolls, nursery rhymes, songs or made-up stories. Cari’s stature, inherited from Camille, made her an easy bundle to handle and carry around — which happened a lot. 

Despite knowing more about human sexual reproduction than Richard thought appropriate (thanks to her FRENCH mother and her grandmother on her MOTHER’S side), Jasiri maintained every day that her Maman and Pa-pa had specifically made a daughter to grant her wish for a sister. Richard relented after months of scientific explanations about gender probabilities in male sperm failed to sway his eldest; Jasiri would have none of it.  

When Mama Le Bon declared Cari’s gender after the delivery, a very smug little girl smiled triumphantly at her shaken father (Camille and Catherine had _again_ insisted that Jasiri know and understand what giving birth entailed. They considered it a form of sex education; Richard _still_ considered it child abuse - though well intended). 

Until Cari, the Poole children presented a mix of Camille and Richard (their adopted daughter was the image of Camille at that age with some Richard added in as highlights) with hazel brown-green eyes and darkish sandy hair that curled with the slightest degree of moisture in the air. 

Cari broke the mold.

If his wife was stunning and his other children were beautiful, Cari was breathtakingly lovely.

First, genetics be damned, Cari sported a pair of genetically recessive leafy green eyes with hints of brown flecked randomly. The effect was mesmerizing; more than one adult had lost time in those eyes, including her doting pa-pa. Next, Cari’s hair took Richard’s light brown color - darker than her siblings but not yet brunette - and fell in huge, loose curls so fine they could be straightened with fingers. This coloring included her eyebrows - her mother’s eyebrows, that arched without effort.

* * *

 

Tonight, a tad shy of six weeks after Camille almost lost Richard to a serious panic attack, the family spent an unusually cool Saint Marie evening on the sand porch — a small square of asphalt designed and built by Richard to avoid having to sit on or in the sand. He’d explained to Camille, in excruciating detail, how the selection of the black material ensured every family member could see any invading sand and sweep it off before use. 

Jasiri and her maman spooned in a padded outdoor recliner, dozing with the setting sun. Catherine and the Pattersons were swapping the twins back and forth for two weeks to give the family a break until Richard's parents arrived to help out with the youngest Poole. Baby Cari lay next to her father in a porta-cot, blissfully sleeping. Cari’s tiny little baby snores brought a lopsided grin to her father’s face; he'd refused to agree with Camille's assertion that their family wouldn’t have been complete without Cari, but he knew it to be true.

Richard took his everyday guitar out and softly tuned the strings. His 1865 Martin stayed in the apartment over La Kaz, well away from his twin wrecking crew. With an appraised value over £60,000, the instrument had found a teenaged Richard during a guitar-shopping expedition in a second hand store; well-crafted but simply styled, many had overlooked the Martin's true value. Richard hoped its future value would cover university educations in England or the States for the girls (Richard assumed the Commonwealth rehabilitation system would administer free educations for the twins). The Yamaha guitar in his hands sang with a more optimistic voice than Richard’s beloved Martin, but better suited his life as he lived it now. Camille gifted the Yamaha to him on their (belated first and) second wedding anniversary.

 

“ _I can see what's happening_

_And they don't have a clue_

_They'll fall in love and here's the bottom line_

_Our four will drop to two._

 

_The sweet caress of twilight_

_With magic everywhere_

_And with all the romantic atmosphere_

_Disaster's in the air_

 

_Can you feel the love tonight_

_The peace the evening brings_

_The world for once in perfect harmony_

_With all its living things…”_

[“Can You Feel The Love Tonight”, Elton John & Time Rice]

 

A man’s worst nightmare lay before Richard: a seductive wife, stunning six weeks after delivering their fourth child; one beautiful daughter whose looks and lilting French accent stopped passersby during their working holiday in Florida last year and another gorgeous baby girl whose eyes hypnotized without effort. Richard’s greatest fears for the women in his life floated in the song’s lyrics onto the cool breeze moving over them from the mountains. Dealing with Camille’s persistent pursuers kept him busy enough but now Richard found himself the father of two drop-dead good-looking daughters.

 

How could he protect Camille from the Lotharios who continued to ignore her wedding ring when she (a) could drop them faster than he could, and (b) would have to bail him out of his own jail if he acted on his well-considered, ultra-secret Lothario Eradication Plan? 

How would he keep his eldest, Cozette Jasiri, safe from boys who coveted her body but did not appreciate her sweet and loving heart? How would he handle knowing she’d fallen in love, giving her love — and possibly the rest of herself — to some young man who would never deserve her in Richard’s eyes?

How would he have the strength, at 60-some years old, to protect Cari when the time came? Could he trust his sons (who would be well on their way to becoming master criminals by then) to “take care” of any problems — and, as Chief of Police, would Richard look the other way? What more could Camille do to invite unwanted attention to their youngest daughter than to name her “Caress”?

 

Abandoning his guitar to its case, Richard transferred his baby girl from the porta-cot to his chest and leaned fully back onto the recliner. Cari squiggled without waking, seeking a comfortable position, before stilling with a contented baby sigh. Her father’s protecting arms held her to him as he sang a cappella, the remaining verses and choruses of the song exactly describing his future with these Poole ladies. 

 

Without the need for further analysis, Richard concluded that he was cosmically screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second Balladeer story. Fell out of other materials and made me chuckle.


End file.
